Death Note AD
by laydee-jiraya
Summary: Light discovers L's real name, and they wind up making out, after a revealing conversation. Their new feelings for each other change rapidly, however, when Light's memories of being Kira return.
1. Kiras

Death Note A.D.

After Death: A continuation of the Death Note saga by Lady Jiraya

Chapter One: Kiras

He was quiet, staring blankly ahead: thinking, planning, patient–deciding on what Kira's next move might be, so he would know what to look for in Light. It was one thing, seeing what a person does and then thinking whether or not it points to their innocence or guilt; but all humans are tainted by a thing called 'bias.' L was no exception. L. Yes, he hadn't heard his own name in so long, just a single curved Gothic letter, flickering on a white background over a thousand monitors, TVs, and video phones. It made him feel something empty inside, existing only as a letter, but what that emptiness was, he was too far gone to tell. Maybe he should be looking for signs that he was Kira, too.

"I wouldn't put it past me," L muttered–apparently aloud, because Light glanced over from his right, thin wrists still curved back so his slim fingers could type on the keyboard before him.

"Hmm?"

"Yes. There's a three-percent chance."

"Ryuuzaki? Chance of what?" Light asked, impatient, and sounding a little annoyed. He was so childish, so competitive. So much like L himself.

"That I'm Kira," L mumbled into the dark, and Light looked at him quietly. "Well tell me, Light-kun, what are your thoughts? Do you still believe it's possible, that you are Kira and unaware of it?" A delicate china plate was clasped in his hands, hands covered to the knuckle by baggy white sleeves. One of them held a fork, a bite of cheesecake suspended in air.

"After all that has happened–as strange as all this is–it makes sense that I would be Kira." L took that fated bite. "There is too much evidence to indicate that it is most likely me. And yet . . . I don't understand how I can't remember it if I am. Every part of me that is the best of me, that was able to understand the world where others couldn't–every thought in my mind tells me it all makes sense. And yet some part of me just refuses to accept that I did something I can't even remember. Those are my thoughts." Light looked sick, and weak, staring blankly at a spot in the middle of the air, two inches from his face–a spot occupied by nothing but the line of his eyes.

"Yes, I feel the same," L said quietly, looking at him gently as he took another bite, and kept looking, a continual stare with overly wide pupils, a blind man in the dark. "I have another question." His gaze fell to a spot on the wall. "What do you think Kira's qualities would be, as a person? I know we have some clues on this, but I want your gut instincts this time. What sort of person is capable of being Kira?"

". . . Hmm." Light crossed his fingers together. "I've thought about this before," he sighed quietly, to nothing in particular. "My thoughts are still the same. I think Kira would be much like you and I, Ryuuzaki."

"So then you must understand why even I can't be freed from the potential to be Kira. If having memories of being involved in the events is not part of the criteria, then I too could be acting as Kira during off-hours. I am already a secretive person. I have many identities. It is possible that even I might not know all of them."

"Regardless of your logic, I don't think that is something you're capable of. At any rate. I would like to think so," Light said quietly, lest he wake Matsuda, who had fallen asleep at his desk in the control room. L only said, "Hmm," in response, then pressed the power button on his computer, and put his dirty fork on top of it.

"It's a good thing you're rich; that's going to kill your computer," Light griped, sounding more than a little irritated.

"Come on," L complained, and yanked hard on the handcuff chain as he walked off, making Light fall on his face. "We've got lots of work tomorrow. We should go to bed." Light wanted to start a fight very badly, but he didn't want to wake everyone, so he walked sleepily behind up the stairs. The unspoken grandness of the tower laid merely in its existence; it simply was, and served every complex purpose its occupants needed. It said a lot about Ryuuzaki, Light realized, walking up dimly lit steps, repeating themselves in neat perfection. In fact, Ryuuzaki and the tower were almost the same: blank in appearance, practical, yet showing a certain specialty of purpose. Inside there were many rooms, endless rooms in fact–most of them hidden, just like most of Ryuuzaki's mind. Night-lights lined the steps as they walked; the purpose of that was obvious, it prevented one from tripping–but when they reached the landing, Light realized there were night-lights here too, in spite of the landing being well-lit by city lights cascading through a wide glass window–something he had never paid any attention to.

"Are you afraid of the dark, Ryuuzaki?" he teased, while L slid his card-key through the receptor in the doorframe. L looked back, with wide, black eyes.

"Hmm?"

"All the night-lights. I just noticed, there are so many of them."

"I'm only afraid of the dark inside a building. There are too many walls to bump into." With a click the door handle came ajar and they were inside the closest to rest and comfort that either of them knew at this point in time; a simple room with one bed, done up mostly in cream tones, without pictures on the wall, flowers on the wallpaper, or anything else to add a feminine touch. It was a room that simply was, although the care and expense put into it were apparent. This was no hotel room. L lay down on the bed, still in his jeans and everything else, and stared at the ceiling, which was what he did most of the time so far when he was supposed to be asleep in bed. There wasn't much Light could do but just lay down beside him. L had him on a short leash.

"Hey, would it be too much to ask if you could let the cuff off for a bit?" Light asked. "I want to take this shirt off."

"Why?" L asked.

"Well, because it's not comfortable. Do you always sleep with all those clothes on?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It never occurred to me not to."

Light grumbled. "Well that's not the point. I've been sleeping in my day clothes all week because it seemed awkward. Now I've gotten used to you."

"Alright, you can take off the shirt." L passed him a pair of scissors from a drawer in the nightstand. "Here you go."

"You want me to cut it off?!"

"If you were keeping watch over a person you suspected as Kira, would you keep the key on you when you sleep next to them?"

"No, of course not. But Watari has the key!"

"And do you really think he wants to be woken up at four in the morning just so you can get comfy?" L looked amused, a rare event, although he often sounded it. Light sat there, scissors in hand, his face blanched in irritation. "Look, I'll buy you a new one, just as uncomfortable as that one. I promise."

"Fine." Light began cutting the buttons off his shirt.

"What are you doing?"

"Well if I'm going to destroy it, I'm not going to take the time to unbutton it properly!" A button went flying at L's face.

"It's risen to six percent," he complained, shielding his face.

"What?! Why?!"

"Because you're trying to assassinate me with buttons. Furthermore, you're showing exceptional brutality toward an innocent shirt," he said, through his sleeve.

"What a surprise, Ryuuzaki is trying to be funny," Light bullied, and with a final snip the sleeve came off the chain between the cuffs. "Alright, I'm definitely going to do it," the silhouette of Light decided, the lower half of its face slashed with the crescent moon of an evil grin. A hand of dark lines held the scissors gracefully.

"Do what?" L asked.

"Well seeing as I had to destroy my shirt, it's only fair. I'm going to destroy yours."

"What?!" Suddenly Light was on top of him, scissors held aloft, while L lay underneath him and looked up with eyes even more frightened than usual.

"Hold still, I don't want to end up giving you a haircut," Light teased, and L finally stopped struggling.

"This is most unusual," he surmised. "I think Kira would definitely not be the type to attack a person with scissors. Hey, my shirt," he noted, finally realizing that Light had cut the front open while he was busy thinking. "I only own twelve more exactly like this one!"

"You own . . . twelve of these?" Light asked, in horror.

"Yes, they were on special. I only wear one of them, however."

". . ."

"Well. You've ruined it already. I guess you'd better finish what you started," he sighed, and began a staring contest with the ceiling, while Light cut his sleeves off.

". . . You would definitely be passive in any relationship," Light noted, and threw the shirt to the floor. He put the scissors back, then rolled onto his side of the bed. "That has to be awkward with ladies. They always want a man to stand up for them, and act big and tough."

"Maybe that's why I'm still a virgin," L noted, and Light was the one to blush, while L just kept staring at the ceiling, as if he'd been talking about how much he liked donuts.

"Maybe so," was all Light could say.

"You know, Light," he started again. "I think you're wrong. In fact I think you'd be the passive one in any relationship you weren't in just for show," he noted, looking over with a glimmer of something strange in his eyes . . . a glance that was almost coy.

". . . You may be a master detective, but with relationship stuff you're pretty pitiful," Light challenged. "Why do you think I'd be passive?"

"Because, Light. You never go for who you want. You go for who you know you can have. While every other aspect of your personality hints at how competitive you are, you're afraid to go for girls who are anything less than weak. A weak girl will follow you, simply because of what you have, and not question. In short, if we're talking about being with someone you really cared about, you're as much of a virgin as I am."

"What are you getting at?!" Light gasped in fury, and sat bolt-upright.

"Cut a little too close to the bone with that one," L sighed, and closed his eyes.

"I do not do that, in any relationship!"

"Then what about Misa?"

". . ."

"Just as I thought. You go for whoever shows interest first. Well then, Light-kun. What if I showed interest?" Light looked worried, and his mouth curved into a frown.

"I don't know what you're getting at, I'm not like that," he insisted. "I go for girls I like. Misa happens to have this thing for me, is all. As for you. Well L, if you showed interest in me, I'd be inclined to punch you."

"Is that so," he mused, but lay there, and did nothing.

". . . What are you talking about this for, anyways? Are you . . . interested . . . in me?"

"Not in the least," L muttered to himself. "It was a hypothetical situation."

"That hypothetical situation would be really bad if one of us actually was Kira."

"Yes. Especially for the one who wasn't Kira."

"What do you suppose the chance is that one of us has to be Kira?"

"At least eight percent. Which is a very high number."

"And I'm at five percent."

"Correct."

"Well that would be bad for you then."

"I certainly think so. Hypothetically speaking, of course."

"Of course." It was so nice, having someone to play cat and mouse with, to play mind games with, for each to shift reality through their fingers like sand and see who could come up with better items: seashells, pennies, driftwood. Light lay back against soft pillows and turned to face his forced companion in the glimmering city-lights reflected so many floors up.

"Ryuuzaki," he said, at length. "I really hope neither of us is Kira."

"So do I," L sighed. ". . . I have another question," he said, all of a sudden. "That is, if you're not too tired. I need to realize you don't sleep the same hours as I do."

"What is it?" Light asked. "I'm not all that sleepy at the moment."

"What do you want to do once this is all over, and Kira is caught?"

". . . I think," he began. ". . . No, I know what I want to do. I want to work in the police force."

"If that happens, we'd have a chance to work together again, most likely," L mentioned.

"Yes. That would be nice. So, what would you do?"

". . ."

"Well?"

"I would do the same as I always do, Light-kun. I would continue to exist." He sounded exhausted, his body breathing slow breaths, like he was too tired to even keep his lungs full of air. "I would still be out there, doing the same things. I would. But there is a good chance that I will die working on this case. So I might not have to worry about that at all."

"W-why do you think you would die on this case?"

"It's just a gut feeling I have," he said quietly. "Mostly, I use my mind to work on cases. But when they are really difficult to solve, I rely on feelings–not emotions. A different sense. That sense is telling me I will probably not live much longer, and naturally, it will be at the hand of Kira."

"But how would Kira find out your name? Or if it's the second Kira, see your face?" His expression showed honest confusion, and L treasured that, because it gave him just a little more hope that this boy, in spite of the circumstances, was not who he feared him to be. At any rate, this next step would be crucial in determining, once and for all, if Light Yagami was Kira.

"Because I am going to tell you. And you are likely Kira."

"Well if you think I'm Kira, don't tell me your name!"

"I'm only telling you the last part. However, you are astute. I have no doubt that it would be enough for you to find out everything you need to about me."

"Why are you doing this if you have any doubts about me? Why would you risk your own life so definitely?! Just to prove I'm not Kira? What does that matter to you?! I know you want to solve this case, but it isn't worth your life!"

"That's just why I want so badly to solve it, now. I've put you through a lot, Light. Even with all the circumstances, there is a good possibility that you are innocent. And if that is the case, obviously, I must work as hard as possible to prove to myself that it isn't you. Only then can your persecution end. Look at it this way. If you are in fact innocent, and I continue to imprison you and accuse you, or worse, if you are innocent and wind up going before a court through some mistake in my judgment–perhaps even executed–would I be any better than Kira? Wouldn't I be handing out my own misguided justice? No. I think I'm doing that anyways. Maybe that's why I want to prove that you aren't Kira so badly. Because in doing so much for someone, it makes it seem less likely to myself that I could be Kira." Light had never heard this guy talk so much, or about anything so terribly sad.

"So you're risking your life, just because you . . . want to believe in me?"

"And in myself, yes. I am . . . L. Lawliet." His name finally was breathed from his mouth to someone other than Watari, and to another soul he became fully formed as a real human being, not just a fancy black letter, accompanied by a garbled voice.

"Lawliet . . ." Light trailed off.

"Even when I was a child, before there was a need for me to hide myself from the world, people called me L. I've been as you've known me, as L, for a while. But there are many parts of me I keep hidden. I wanted you to know one of those parts. However, please don't inform anyone else. Doing so will make it difficult for those who remain to determine whether or not you are Kira, in the event of my death."

"What are you talking about?! Ryuuzaki–you–you're not going to die, because I'm not Kira!"

"I suppose time will tell."

"How can you tell me a part of your name if you still don't believe me?! It's not like your name is Smith! If I wanted to find an orphan your age, from England, named Lawliet, it wouldn't be hard!"

"And that's exactly why I did it."

"I will make a promise to you!" Light begged, grabbing L's hands, staring him back into his wide, deer-in-the-headlights eyes. "Ryuuzaki. I promise. No I swear. I will not be the one who kills you! . . . What are you . . . ? Are you . . . crying?" A single tear coursed down L's cheek.

". . . I am . . . a coward," he admitted. "I'm just a little afraid of it, is all . . . Of dying."

"You won't die!"

"Everyone dies, Light. You'll die, too. Sometimes I wonder, if I've been wasting all these years. I've done apparent good, but until you, I've made no connections. I wonder if I've really been someone . . . who has made their mark." He glanced up to find Light staring at him, in numb shock.

"Of course you have! You've caught serial killers, solved cases nobody else could have–prevented the loss of countless lives–" The chain between them clinked, links colliding with one another, vying for space as Light put his arms around L. "Look, everyone plays their part, and you've done more than your share. I think what's missing with you is just people to share it with." L seemed frigid in his grasp, completely unused to this sort of contact, but he made an effort to relax and let his hands slip around Light's waist, his head lay against his chest.

"Thank you, Light-kun," was all he could say.

"You weren't speaking hypothetically earlier, were you."

"A-about what?" And then Light leaned down and kissed him, a long, slow kiss. At first L's body was stiff and he seemed terrified, then again he let down his guard and reached up, putting his hand behind the other boy's head and letting his fingerprints caress soft strands of golden-brown hair. He began to feel warm, and safe, a feeling he had never known his entire life, and slowly, haltingly, kissed back. Finally Light's lips broke from his, leaving tingling feelings and a slight wetness on his own.

"That's all for now," Light insisted, looking at him mildly. "I know how it was when I had my first kiss, and when I lost my virginity. I wish it hadn't been as rushed. You are . . . quite a bit like me, Ryuuzaki. I would suppose you'd feel the same way. Am I right?"

"Yes. You are right," he said, looking disappointed.

"What's with that look? We can't do anything anyways, the sun's already up."

"Huh? Oh. I hadn't even noticed that." L felt oddly about this, because he was always the one to notice first when the sun came up, usually because he spent his nights sleeplessly staring out the window.

"We should get ready," Light insisted, and got up, headed for the bathroom.

"This bites," L mentioned casually.


	2. Le Petit Mort

Chapter Two: Le Petit Mort

His voice sang lightly into the night, a gentle and innocent voice. "Maybe I should drop you at your door, leave tonight and vanish up the shore. Anywhere but here. It's three o'clock, we're driving in your car, you're screamin' out the window at the stars. Please don't drive me home. Blame us cos we are, who we are. Hate us cos you'll never get that far. And who'd suppose, you would go–" Suddenly the headphones were ripped from him, music cut to a screeching halt.

"I said knock it off!" Light complained, standing over his warden and cellmate, who looked up with an unreadable expression.

"Why? Is there something wrong with Ryuuzaki-san's singing?" he asked plainly, without any remorse.

"No! It's just a troublesome song."

"I think it's romantic."

"That's because you're not paying attention to the lyrics," he grumbled. "It's actually a very sad song, about two people who obviously can't be together."

"That's what makes it romantic. It's sad."

"You have odd ideas about what romantic is," Light told him, looking worried. It had been a very, very long day, followed by a long night–of sleeping, followed by another long day and then a long night of extra work, caused by a slipup involving Matsuda–the usual suspect when a slipup was involved. He'd been waiting patiently, curiously, wondering what Light was going to do next, and now they were finally alone again and Light was acting like he had forgotten about what happened. Was this how people were with each other, when nobody was around? Were they distant, and kept secrets? Were they like Light? L was perplexed, mostly because he knew nothing about this sort of behavior, having never encountered it before–mostly because he'd never been this close to a person to find out what constituted as 'normal.' He wasn't sure if this meant that Light was more or less likely to be Kira. And worst of all, his case was beginning to descend into a trail of perplexing dead-ends, right when it was seemingly coming to a close with the Yotsuba Group.

"Light-kun seems a bit irritated tonight," he sighed. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

"No," was all that he said, his back turned toward the other boy as he sat on the edge of their expensive prison-bed.

"Perhaps you've changed your mind about me," a voice hushed into the cool night air. "That's okay. In truth, it brings up a lot of problems. It makes me even more bias." Light didn't look at him, he just sat there, and sat very still, his muscles incredibly tense.

"You're talking about the case of course," Light said coldly.

"Yes. What else is there to talk about?"

"Fuck," he said, and his voice choked a little bit.

"Hmm? . . . Did I say something wrong?"

"I . . . no. No, you didn't."

"Then what _is_ wrong?"

"Ryuuzaki. I think what we–what I–did before was, most likely a mistake." L stared patiently at his back, willing Light to turn around until he finally did, and when he did he looked incredibly sad. "I have come to feel strongly for you, and in the event that one of us is Kira, that puts the other one in potential danger. It is important for us to both stay clear-minded about this, and maintain suspicion of the other."

"I see," L said quietly. "That . . . does make sense." He sat up awkwardly, knees tucked under his chin, to keep himself thinking rationally. The discomfort of this pose was what kept him from letting his mind wander, although apparently most people found it weird, especially in cars and while eating in restaurants. "However, Light, don't you suppose that the ultimate danger has already been achieved? You are safe, for now. And if I am Kira, there is nothing you can do to prevent the loss of your life. If some part of me were Kira and wanted you dead, you probably already would be; I have your face and name. Likewise, the tools are at your disposal from any computer to find out my full name, meaning the same for me. So, whatever happens from here on out, will do nothing to increase the risk, as the risk is already as high as possible, if one of us is Kira."

"That's the other thing, too." He paused. Light was unused to telling people the complete truth, because the complete truth was ugly–it contained bruises and bumps, the imperfection of the world and of himself, and he liked to bluff that it was better than it seemed. That made it all the harder to confess something painful that he didn't even understand. "Ryuuzaki . . . I . . . care for you. But at the same time you think I am likely Kira. I know how I look in this situation; the prime suspect. Yet it . . . it pains me . . ."

". . ."

"It pains me to kiss you, knowing you're probably spending that kiss trying to figure out if it means I'm more- or less-likely to be Kira." L was not good with this sort of thing, and was seriously thinking about leaving the room, until he remembered that he was handcuffed to Light. There was nothing to be done, but try to talk to him. He tried putting himself in Light's shoes first, but L didn't wear shoes most of the time, so it seemed difficult enough to imagine himself in his own shoes, and then he chided his own mind for being so literal, and put a hand on Light's shoulder.

"This is my cross to bear," he explained. "And I'm sorry that you've gotten so close that you now have to bear it with me." The hand fell back down.

"No, you're wrong," Light began. "We bear the same cross. We've been crucified back to back, so we can't see each other's face."

"We have been. That is our situation. But that doesn't mean we have to accept it." L couldn't believe the words that were tumbling from his mouth, a mouth yearning for another kiss from this boy he should be fearing, and watching with a careful eye. "We live in a terrible world, it's true. Sometimes I wonder what I would do if I had that notebook. Of course it would be wrong to use it; it's wrong to take any life, and I know that. It makes me sick. But would I do it? If I had a criminal's face in my mind; if I knew their name and knew that they were about to take an innocent life–" He stopped to find Light staring wild-eyed at him. ". . . Light. I think I just increased my own likelihood of being Kira. Five-percent. Now we're tied."

"This is madness! You can't be Kira, who would chase themselves in circles?!"

But L's pulse was pounding in his ears, in every blood vessel in his body, expanding, contracting with the throbbing of his heart. "Because if I didn't, someone else would be sent to capture me. The way this whole thing has been working so far . . . it's as if I've been fighting myself. Kira is always one step ahead. I am always one step behind, but only that one step. As if he is the leader and I am the follower."

"Ryuuzaki," Light soothed. "Calm down. Breathe. Think about this clearly. Anyone could say something like that when faced with dire circumstances. It doesn't mean that you are Kira."

". . . You're . . . you're right. You're right," he shivered. "Light. I know you don't . . . I wish . . ." he trailed off, looking lost for words and meaning, and Light took one of his hands in both of his own.

"Ryuuzaki. Please, don't . . . Look at me." He cast his eyes onto Light: staring, dark, cold, like the eyes of a man already dead, but accepting–of his fate and of the pain he quietly allowed to burn inside his heart, and rather than act out, allowed to consume him, blood and bone. "Ryuuzaki, I . . ." He pulled him into his lap, and L just laid there, numb and not moving, staring up at the ceiling.

"I am . . . Kira. Aren't I?"

"No. No, it's not true. Think about this. Am I a rational person?"

"Yes."

"Do you think I would ignore logic out of pure emotion?"

". . . Yes, if the circumstances were great enough."

"And are they?" He was trying to get L's brain working again, to make this insomniac wake from his sleep and see the world again with fresh eyes. The words came, quietly and halting.

"I suppose the circumstances are not great enough. I am pained, but, surely Light-kun doesn't care about me enough to . . . to ignore logic. To ignore the fact that I am Kira, if I plainly was."

"If I was Kira," Light said quietly. "I would definitely have the upper hand now. You are weak and suffering inside, and you seem to care about me too much. You need to get a hold of yourself, Ryuuzaki."

". . . I want to be with you, Light. Don't turn away from me," he said. "If I am right, and I am going to die, I want to . . . at least have loved someone . . ."

"Shh . . . you're not Kira. Nor are you going to die at the hand of Kira."

". . ."

"Everything's alright," he sighed, and pressed his lips to the older boy's once more, a kiss desired over the span of innumerable hours, stroking his wild black hair. L's heart-rate began to slow to a lull of inner tides as Light stroked his thin ribcage gently, barely pulling up the edge of his shirt on one side. L was being overcome with feelings he could not rationalize; none of this made sense in the grand scheme of things. He watched as his hand moved on its own to stroke Light's chin and neck, then fell across his nipple and down to the edge of his boxers.

"Kiss me," he begged, innocently, sweetly, his eyes wide with a lack of sleep and an overflow of foreign emotion. He felt Light's face collide gently with his, like the clinking links in the chain that bound them, his lips sucking on L's mouth, then sticking his tongue in, an implication of what was to come.

"What do you want me to do to you?" Light asked teasingly, yanking at his shirt and making L blush–just lightly on his cheeks, the rest of his face staying basement-dweller pale. Another shirt fell on the floor, identical to the one Light had cut up two nights before, but this one with just the sleeve slit.

"Uh, well, what's on the menu?" he asked, pretending the lampshade was very interesting.

"You're so shy. I . . . think I like that," Light realized. "How about I do things to you? Pleasurable things," he whispered seductively, the words tickling L's ear as Light lay on top him and kissed him, moving from down his whole body in a dotted line of kisses and licks. L could feel that he was hard and that made it all the more exciting, made him aroused as well as the kisses on his stomach went lower; Light was unbuttoning is pants, then unzipping them; rising up and standing at the edge of the bed to pull his jeans off from the cuffs, then lay back down, between his legs, so seductively kissing his pelvic bone, the inside of his thigh, then pulled his boxers off, but still refused to consummate what he'd started. Tender kisses ran up one of his legs; thin, graceful legs, Light gazing steadily into his eyes as he moaned. He took his dick in his hand and then slowly licked it, stroking upwards with a tongue willing to give him everything he desired–five seconds after the desire reached the point where he couldn't stand it anymore. It was like a most beautiful form of torture, and L both wished it would never end and wished it would be over quickly; he could feel a hot flush rising in his cheeks as Light's mouth enveloped his dick and slowly sucked it, rubbing it with his tongue, making his legs shake ever so slightly with what felt like electrical charges.

"Oh, Light-kun," he moaned, stroking the boy's head, which moved gently up and down, his eyes lifted to stare into L's, heightening the intensity of the moment to a slow and patient frenzy. L could feel his toes curling; Light was stroking his chest upwards, then running the tips of his fingernails down it. When he came it was like dying on a smaller scale, that feeling of losing oneself into something that can't be explained, his body completely out of his control, a puppet being pulled by strings that Light controlled. Light swallowed his cum, then without another word got up very quickly and got a soda from their mini-fridge, leaving L naked and still gasping, less-intensely, and less-intensely still, his alarmed eyes staring vacantly into the ceiling's shadows, arms stretched weirdly over his head.

"Well you enjoyed that," Light smirked.

"Am I . . . alive?" L asked quietly, then sat up, and looked around. He looked cautiously at his hands, as if certain he had surely died, and was expecting to find them to be see-through.

"You are now," Light smiled.


	3. Burned

Chapter Three: Burned

"Oh my fucking God," was all L could say when Light asked him later what he thought. He had no idea how literal that statement was until a week later, when he was lying in Light's arms once more, this time never to rise again. A fire burned brightly in Light's eyes, blindingly, a fire of self-appointed omnipotence, coupled with a smile of hatred. Of course he knew what this meant, in spite of the false screams with which Light screamed his false name. "Yagami Light. So, I wasn't wrong. But . . . I . . ." Calm, low light, smoldering with afternoon glow. It had been streaming brightly through the window before, and now it was dimming out as the connection between his brain and his eyes died at a rapid rate, just like the rest of him, until he was left in only darkness, silence, and stillness. "I . . . wish I had been," he gasped regretfully, just like anyone who has gotten too close to the fires of the sun wishes it only lit a path, and didn't burn.

He sat hunched up, just as he had in life, in a place with a floor but little else. It didn't really have a sky, just blackness, rising up into infinity. The only anomaly in this persistent blackness was L himself, his pale skin indeed looking like it glowed by comparison. It didn't matter if he was dead; at least this would enable Light to be caught. Surely the people who remained on his team wouldn't be so stupid as to _not_ realize it was Light. It had to be. But then again, people believe what they want to. L certainly had. In spite of the knowledge that he might very well be doing this, he had kept allowing himself to be biased, until, in the end, it killed him. When he and Light had kissed. Did he seem to have any ulterior motive then? L wondered. No, he genuinely didn't. Later on, he seemed distraught by something. Had it been then? Was that when Kira returned to him? The directions of up and down tilted sideways, but L was still stuck to the floor, so his mind was still stuck to its thoughts. No, he didn't know about that. It had been after the suspected Kira died . . . after Light touched the book . . .

L's eyes went wide. What if touching the book is a mechanism through which the user is controlled? No, that wouldn't make sense. If that was the case, then he would have found _himself_ controlled, as would anyone else on the team who had touched it. What if . . . what if in touching the book, a user's memories of its prior use return? And in its absence, they go away? Yes, that was it. That explained why Light had been so obviously innocent while in custody, while handcuffed to him, in spite of the overwhelming evidence: because he didn't know he wasn't.

A voice whispered in the dark and was joined by other voices still, at different frequencies; a choir barely audible and impossible to understand. L's eyes went wider than normal. He froze, the thousand ideas drained from his mind like the blood was drained from his face.

"Who's . . . there?" he wanted to know. The sky began to develop patches of light, flowing into his retinas upside-down, then righting itself to reveal clouds, in a soft, early morning sun–dove gray, tossed by the wind. There was nobody here, but the air felt alive and tingled with invisible sparks and what felt like droplets of cool rain. He turned around, and found himself faced with . . . a person on fire. L screamed, and threw the person to the ground, rolling him around in an effort to put him out.

"What are you doing?!" the being complained. "Get off me!"

"But, you're on fire!"

"Stop rolling me! I am God!" he cried in outrage. L suddenly realized that, in spite of currently touching the flames, he wasn't getting burned.

"This is all too weird for me!" he screamed, and threw his arms up weirdly, then fell to the ground and curled into a fetal position–but the thing was on its feet now, and was closing in on him. A flaming, beefy fist grabbed the front of his shirt and held him aloft while L screamed, wondering if he was about to go to Hell.

"Steven, stop bullying the new arrivals," another flaming being chastised, walking up slowly from below a hill L had never really noticed they were on.

"He was rolling me!"

"I don't care. If you want to fight someone," the being smiled, and clicked his sword open from its scabbard. "I'll be happy to oblige."

". . . Right. Well. I'm going to go get lunch," Steven complained, and dropped L to the ground, scraping his knees and tearing the jeans he had died in. He really hoped he wasn't going to have to wear a pair of torn jeans for all eternity . . . Wait, what was this? Blood? How could a person without a body have blood, and be injured? Steven walked off, muttering to himself about not having any fun around here.

"Ah, so you're the famous detective known as L," the being mentioned, after a single glance at his name, and a lifespan which read 0. "Well um, welcome to Heaven," it chuckled nervously. A pair of winged horses flew past behind him, pulling a brightly polished cart. A wheel on their side got stuck in a cloud and revved, spraying them with water before breaking loose and continuing its trek through the sky.

"I'm thrilled," L said wetly.

"What? I've never known someone to find themselves in Heaven, and be so despondent!"

"Can I go back now?" he asked, hopelessly. The being only stared at him, quietly blooming fire.

". . . L, you're dead. I mean, just to clarify things, dead people stay dead."

He sighed heavily. "Well, do you guys have a police force I can work with?"

"You don't have to keep doing that, you're dead now–"

"But I'm bored."

"You're . . . bored?"

"Yes."

"In Heaven? When you just got here?"

"Yes." Indeed, his mind had nothing to occupy itself with, which was, for L, a state of painful, heart-breaking boredom. "I have a pretty good resume," he added.

The being agreed to take him to the closest they had to a police force, a large building looking like an enormous and elaborate sand castle, with huge gold onion domes atop each tower. It had already begun to rain very heavily, augmented by small, annoying children with wings, who kept shooting him full of arrows.

"You know, for Heaven the weather here isn't very good," he noted glumly, as the flaming man held open a door.

"What?! But water is the source of life!"

"Pretty useless when we're all dead," L sighed, and pulled an arrow out of his butt.

Inside there were a variety of strange people, for example people with two necks and a head with two merged faces, or people with wings for instance, or people whose bodies were turning wispy at the edges, as if they were being dissolved by some acidic compound in the air. L reached through one of the wispy ones to take a number, and sat around on a love seat, waiting to be called. He tucked his knees up under his chin, and, eventually, fell asleep.

Instead of dreams, L had memories; memories of Light mostly; painful memories of the look in his eyes when he was so concerned about him, followed by a flash of his eyes as he held him, dying. You couldn't even think they were the eyes of the same person, and yet they were. Light's cold eyes faded into fog, and from that fog swirled up a horrible conjured image of him, standing before an enormous painting of God, so that it looked like the huge man's wings sprouted from his shoulders. His arms were outstretched, just slightly, gracefully, as if filled with a sense of delicate power, his eyes alight with that same mad, hateful gleam.

A hand came down on his shoulder; he could feel it this time. Was this a memory of Light again? But then the hand began shaking him, and he woke up screaming into the face of a very timid-looking ghost. The startled eyes reminded him a lot of himself and of his nephew, and of course, of his dead father, and his dead aunt.

"S-sorry," the ghost said timidly. He was a little guy, probably a teenager. You were inclined to forget that these people got here in death, but somehow this person made him realize it again. He'd obviously died so young. "But, sir. Is your last name . . . it's not . . . Lawliet, is it?" He looked blank, and lost.

"Let me guess, family reunion?"

"Yeah, we heard you died. We always throw big parties when a family member dies."

". . ." This naturally sounded very strange to a person who had grown accustomed to living among the, well, living. ". . . Tell them I've got business to attend to right now," he said, quietly.

"But we're upset enough hearing how your life ended so soon! Don't make us wait to meet you as well!"

"Unless you want to follow that family reunion with another one, very soon, for someone even younger than I am, I recommend you let me do what I have to do." The kid looked pretty dejected. "Look . . . younger . . . me-person–"

"I'm you're great uncle!" the kid smiled, broadly.

"That's very nice. But I still have business with the living. I'll meet up with you all soon."

"Number 42, please come to window 5!"

"I gotta go."

"Okay. Bye." Window 5 was occupied by a ditzy-looking blond girl who reminded L way too much of Misa-Misa, a pair of small, overly-cute wings growing from her back.

"L, the director will see you now," she smiled, and ushered him to a large, poorly-lit office.

L had died in his arms that afternoon, throwing away any chance of his being captured: his plan was complete, keeping him, and the world, safe from the destruction of their God. What had transpired between them had been odd, yet effective; L had let himself gaze into the sun out of his love for it, and in doing so, found himself blind. Still blinded, he wandered in the dark, unable to see the light for what it was, and sought out the only good feeling he could sense anymore–warmth. But warmth meant fire; and so the sun burned off his wings, and he fell, crippled, to his death, so many feet below. He had known that death was going to come, to him or L, and L wasn't going to prevent the loss of so many innocent lives at the hands of criminals. Yes, this was all perfectly justified. It was a situation where you have to kill or be killed. He'd destroyed L in self-defense, and with such a brilliant plan. He'd even kept his promise to L, that he made that night when he was foolish, his plans as God forgotten in the Death Note's absence. L had not died at his hand; he had merely put Rem in a situation where she had to kill him.

Light had actually smiled at his sheer brilliance into the eyes of his dying friend, all his anger at this man for getting in his way boiling and rising to the top of his soul. It was over, he sighed, looking up at a ceiling L once had, laying on one side of a bed L had once occupied with him. He was . . . justified. So then why did it hurt so badly?

If L had figured out who he was, it wouldn't have mattered to L in any way what Light-kun had said or the way he felt about L. He, Light, would have been put on trial anyways, simply because he was a person to be caught, and for no reason more than that; he would have been killed, without any consideration for all he had been trying to do, all that he did do, that so many others could not. He was sacrificing his own life, his own moral code to save the world from a sickness which ran through its veins. But he hadn't expected he would have to sacrifice someone he . . . tears ran down his face and he sobbed. L had moved into his room with him when the handcuffs went on, but hadn't left when they came off. Early this morning, L had been sleeping in his arms; the first sleep he'd ever observed in this strange man, who stayed up late into the night, eyes staring, circled, while he ate desserts. He had looked so peaceful. He probably looked peaceful now, as the morticians sewed his eyelids shut and pumped his veins full of embalming fluid.

Light found himself wailing, clutching the pillow with strangling fingers. It shouldn't have had to be this way. "Ryuuzaki!" he sobbed. "Why? Why did you have to–" but his sentence was cut short with a tap on his door, and it is a good thing it was, because Matsuda was outside, and the sentence would have ran, "Why did you have to get in my way."

"Light-kun, are you alright?" the sad-looking guy asked, carrying a tea tray. "I brought you some dinner."

"I don't want anything," he choked, tears still streaming down his face.

"Light . . . I'm sorry," he said quietly, and turned to go.

"Would you . . . flip that switch, before you go?" Light asked.

"Uh, sure, but why?"

"I . . . can't stand the light," he sobbed. Matsuda looked concerned, but flipped the switch off, and left, closing the door behind him.

It was resplendent in spite of the dim glower, with marble floors and gold statues on pedestals lining the walls. At the back of the room was a shrine, and behind an alter stood a hooded, shrouded figure, lighting candles. Everything about this place felt ancient and important, and L cast his eyes upwards to take in vaulted ceilings, painted like the Sistine Chapel. The hooded man took out a set of golden scales and lit incense in one side, sage in the other, and began wandering around the room chanting, as if he didn't notice that L was there at all. L cleared his throat. The man continued muttering. He cleared his throat again, and the man looked back.

"Hello," L said, and waved his hand in a single stroke.

"What do you want?" the man asked rudely, pulling back his hood. He was probably about L's age, with wild red hair and a slightly evil look; not the sort of man you pictured in Heaven, but evidently he was.

"You're the director?" he asked.

"Yes. Director Richman. So, what do you want?" This man was very to-the-point.

"I wanted to ask about working for you," L began.

"Have you ever worked for the police? Because I don't want anyone with no experience."

"I was, prior to my death, the world's top three detectives."

". . . L," he gasped. "Yeah, you're hired. When can you start?"

"After you help me put an end to Kira," he told him.


	4. Sacrifice

Chapter Four: Sacrifice

"Isn't there anything I can do?" he asked, downtrodden, speaking softly, his huge eyes staring resolutely at the floor. "Is there nothing?"

"I'm sorry, L. But we have no effect on the living. Once a person is dead, they drop out of the human frame of existence for good." What about Near? Was he smart enough to handle Kira, and not get himself killed? Near was the only family L had had in those last years of his life, a person he hadn't even known about until the kid was dragged into Wammy's House, crying and screaming and fighting, wanting his mother. Near found out later that his mother had been L's older half-sister; his father's daughter from a previous marriage, and made it his personal goal to bother L as much as possible, trying to get L to play with him and his ever-growing collection of toys. But L had never known that half-sister, had never even heard of her or her death; his father had died beside his mother, never revealing anything about another life.

L had been pretty cold to Near, N, as he coined himself. By the time Near had arrived, L was already involved in police work, and it engulfed most of his time, until, a year after Near's arrival, L left for good. He set up a trust fund for his nephew. Had it been enough? No, it hadn't, because if Kira was not caught, Near would be the next detective to take the case over. He'd let Light kill him; put himself at risk, having too much faith that Light was probably innocent, too much faith that the rest of the team would understand what L's death meant with regard to the Kira case and Light. He'd had . . . too much faith. And now Near was likely to suffer the same fate as he did.

He stood there, lost in thought. The Director began waving his hands at L, his mouth moving silently, fuzzy, irritating, like a fly in someone's peripheral vision. But in the background of L's mind, ideas churned.

"You're wrong," he said at last, looking up to acknowledge this annoying person. "There is a way for me to help."

"Oh? And just what do you think that is?" the man teased, probably thinking L must be a fruitcake. Cake. Mmm.

"Get me some cake!" he ordered the other man, and kicked him in the chest. He sat on top of the altar, knees under chin, thumb against lip, in complete sacrilege, but his eyes wide with excitement. The ghost of a very faint smile formed on his lips, hinting at through amusement.

"Cake?" the man asked weakly, picking himself up. He was confused. What was going on here? Director Hansel Richman was used to bossing people around; he did it a lot, and had done so for a very long time. As a result, he'd gotten very good at being bossy; for example, he knew good and well what looks to put on his face if he wanted to make an underling tremble at having brought him cold coffee, and he had a good vocabulary of threatening words to be used on those he interrogated. But this was something different. This man simply wandered in here, and started demanding cake. And worse still, he seemed to think there was some way to get back to the human world, in spite of the fact that he was dead. Just what was he thinking, anyways? "First, tell me–what are you thinking of?!" the man blurted. Oh god, he'd said first, hadn't he. That implied that this would be followed with cake.

"Shi. Ni. Ga. Mi," L said slowly, haltingly. The dark shadows around his eyes gave this man the willies, so he took off at a brisk pace, and went to check the office fridge to see if they had any left, which they no doubt did.

"Ryuuzaki," he sobbed, gently, into his pillow. He'd awoken just a few seconds before, or perhaps you could say he was still waking up. At any rate his pillow was damp with several hour's worth of tears. He sat up, and looked himself in the mirror. He was the same Light. He had not transformed into something monstrous. He was still fighting for the good of the world, and had simply been doing all that he could to prevent that good from being negated. He allowed himself to cry a little longer–he had to get all this emotion out, and get over it. L had lived the saddest life, and experienced the saddest death, that he could think of: an orphan, murdered by his first and only friend, who deceived him for the entire span of their friendship. And in the end, Light had confessed that he not only admired Misa for her devotion, but that he might very well love her. The look on L's face had been classic disgust, his eyes shading a little darker, and his voice had sounded hostile, fed-up. Those feelings had been his undoing. L had been unable to look at this twist of fate objectively, no doubt. He probably just thought Light was dumping him, that he'd been used for sex. He was too hurt to realize that Light's proclaimed devotion to Misa happened only _after_ Higuchi's death–after the cuffs had come off–and had been followed up by the reappearance of the Kira killings.

That was when Ryuk appeared. Technically, shinigami are supposed to keep watch over the human who has possession of their notebook at all times, but Ryuk was getting less and less consistent with this habit lately. It was all fine, when Light was doing something–particularly when he was killing someone. But watching someone sleep for eight hours straight, that can get pretty dull. And excitement was the reason why Ryuk had come to the human world in the first place. He swept through the window, a curious look plastered to his pale, ghastly face, a monster with golden eyes. The shinigami looked curiously at Light, who was shaking in bed, making small, choking sounds as tears streamed from his closed eyes, partially shielded by his hand. This looked pretty boring. So he left again.

Light had noted his presence, and realized suddenly that he had done no more to L than L had done to himself. He chose his life, not me, Light decided. Yet Light had taken from L the only thing he really ever had: his confidence, his intelligence, his sense of judgment. Light had fucked his body, done everything to him he could think of, and, running out of ways to fuck L, had fucked with his mind. He didn't even understand if on some level it was intentional or not. Had he been punishing L, for ruining what could have been a beautiful union with his incessant desire to know secrets? Yes, that's what he had done, he had dealt justice on L for breaking his heart, before he ever even had a chance to, because he knew that's exactly what he would have done if Light had been revealed as Kira. The way he lived and died . . . was his own fault, and it was a great disappointment. I destroyed him, he thought. I loved him, and then I destroyed him. But he played a hand in destroying himself.

Besides, he would have done the same to me, he decided. If I had been caught, I would be the one dead, and L would be the one crying his eyes out.

He arose, and turned on the hot water tap in the shower. L was dead now, buried ten days ago in a secret funeral only he, Matsuda, and his father had attended. Now it was time to end the grieving process, to get back on his feet and keep remolding the world to suit him. He was already dropping subtle sentences into everyone's ears, whenever he got a chance, which would make him seem like the best choice to replace L. The detectives he worked with would arrive at this conclusion on their own, and in doing so, Light would have control of the police force. He dried his hair and smoothed it out, making sure nothing stuck up oddly. His shirt was neatly pressed, free of wrinkles. Light walked downstairs, but it felt like he was ascending some ladder into the sky, at the top resting the position of God. He had gained the foothold, he had won this game of chess, so brilliantly. He smiled, and greeted his father, Matsuda, Mogi, Ide, and Aizawa, who were back to fill in the gaps left by L and Watari, if only while their jobs with the police force permitted it. Naturally, they would appoint him as L on their own. A warm feeling began to fill Light. This was the true beginning of his new world.

"This is really good!" he shrieked, his mouth full of pink cake with strawberry icing. It was a cake made by the Richman's wife, to celebrate his recent success on a case–a cake that no one but that ditzy blond out front would even try, and she'd wound up practically bouncing off the walls.

Apparently Richman's wife hadn't realized that cake batter (and frosting) come with sugar, and had added some extra. A lot extra. "Your wife has talent. It's a shame she's here in this world, when she could have been a great chef on Earth. Wait, that's a wrong thing to say. If she was a great chef on Earth, I wouldn't be eating this right now." The Director and his assistants looked on nervously, unsure of what to do.

"Now, tell us, tell us! What is this business about shinigamis?" Director Richman practically shouted, unable to wait patiently any longer.

"I was wondering if I could get an application." The three men exchanged skeptical glances; one of them shrugged. "Perhaps I'm being too vague," he pondered, looking at the ceiling, fork held daintily in hand. "Let me start over. I was wondering if I could get an application to be a shinigami. If possible, as a temporary position."

"What are you talking about?" the director complained, a look of complete confusion on his face. He had no idea what L was talking about, meaning the shinigami system probably did not work in this manner. Even if there was still a way, this was most likely a dead end.

"Oh," L sighed, and looked solemn again, the vague glint in his eyes having gone out. "Well, I suppose that was a pretty far stretch. I just, sort of hoped. But yes, it makes sense that I wouldn't be able to become a shinigami."

"Yes, that is only granted to the dead in the most dire of circumstances," one of the other two men noted.

"Exactly!" Richman piped up. "Now would you please get off the altar? We've got some spying to do, we need to put the mirror up!"

"Wait, you mean that it is possible?" L asked casually.

"It is possible to take on that role, but why would you want to? Everyone dies eventually. Our work in this world is what counts," his assistant continued.

"How do I go about it?"

"Well, you have to enquire with God himself. And I really doubt you'll get an affirmative."

"Tell me how to do this. Where do I go?"

"To the azure doors," he said.

It had sounded so bland coming from that boring man's lips, but it was something else entirely to see it. Huge columns with flames at the top lined an entry-way made for a giant, the two doors and everything else around cast in a bright blue light. He placed his palm casually against the crack between the two doors, each one like a skyscraper itself, and the doors opened up, liquid light and ethers spilling out to reveal inside a coupling of blinding silence, and the power to kill L's soul. Rising high on a wave of this bright, weightless water sat a series of eyes, thousands of different eyes, and in them the vague forms of the faces they had belonged to in life. Nobody said anything, the doors still only cracked open a bit compared to their potential. Perhaps it was his turn to speak.

"I've come here to ask for your help," was all he could say. No voice spoke back, but the eyes seemed to be surveying him, considering where he was going with this. "I want to become a shinigami, if only for a while." Suddenly red began to spill out from the center of the writhing mass of eyes, their brows shading with irritation, the doors coming closed. L sprang to his feet, and grabbed the cracked marble edge of the door to his right, as if he thought he could stop it. "Wait!" he begged. The eyes continued to watch him, the red retreating ever so slightly. "Please. I want to save someone's life." Dissatisfaction flickered in countless shiny orbs, so he continued. "I want to try to save . . . someone else's soul, as well. I don't even want a notebook. I am content to die as a shinigami, without taking a single human's lifespan. Only . . . I feel . . . that I want to accomplish this first, if possible."

He had nothing else to say, so he stood very still, and hunched, in his baggy, wrinkled clothes. A part of him seriously wondered why he was here, and an even larger part of him wondered why he'd said the part about 'trying to save someone else's soul.' At last a voice finally spoke, and it wasn't a loud, powerful boom like he had been expecting. It was a cacophony of whispers–in fact, it was the same series of whispering voices he had heard on the wind when he had first materialized in this world, or rather, when this world had first materialized for him.

"You should understand what will happen first, first happen, first," the voices cooed. L felt a shiver of electricity creeping up his spine. "You will be stripped of life, of life. Of humanity. Do not make this choice lightly lee, lightly, Light." He could feel tears welling up in his eyes. Light.

"You're right, I should think about this first." He sat down, hunched up in his usual pose, and considered what this could mean. He wondered if the voices were going to keep being vague in what they were describing would occur, or if he could get specifics out of them. It's just like questioning the shinigami Rem, he realized, with an amused uplifting, barely perceptible, at the corners of his lips. I just have to see what is left intentionally blank. "Is it possible," he asked, "for me to save a person's life as a shinigami?"

"Yesss," the voices hushed.

"Another question. If a person has used a Death Note, the rules in the front of the book claim that a human who uses the notebook, can go to neither Heaven nor Hell. Do you know this rule to be true?"

"Again, yes."

"What happens to that person, a user of the Death Note?" he wondered.

"I cannot not not-can tell yooou," the voices echoed, rippling into his ears.

He frowned–the voice was hard to follow, but that sounded like a refusal to elaborate. Well, it didn't matter what their final destination was; he could assume it wasn't anything good. Perhaps their soul was, in the end, destroyed, or perhaps it went into a state of limbo, bound to earth. Or perhaps Light would become a shinigami as well. He supposed he wouldn't mind being a shinigami himself, provided there was dessert . . . dessert . . . and a chance to speak to Light again. I wonder if death gods like ice cream, he pondered. Or cheesecake. He supposed he should be worrying about his own state in this matter as well. It wouldn't do any good, for example, if he became a shinigami, but in doing so his memories of Light and what he intended to do were erased. He decided upon one final question, and recited it from his mind as he chewed on his thumb.

"Will I keep the same memories I have now? Will I still be myself?"

The voice paused, considering. "In short, yesss."

"I want to do it," he said, his spirit and voice fully committed to every syllable he had just uttered, looking up into so many eyes, his own eyes wide and innocent while feelings of fear pulsed terribly inside him.

"It is a long process," the voices told him. "You our soul will be deconstruct con constructed. It will take five years."

"Five years?" he said, looking down. His eyes were very sad. "But . . . that may not be in time."

"It is a complex process. This is all I can offer."

"Then do it," he gasped quietly, and watched as tendrils of light wrapped around his wrists, and pulled him, screaming, into the void.


	5. Return

Chapter Five: Return

Even when alive he'd always looked like he was dead. L was born on Halloween, and his visage suited it: a skeletal face, with shadows around his eyes hinting at the line of his eye sockets, his teeth somehow reminding someone of those in a skull when he revealed them to chew on cookies, one clasped between finger and thumb on each hand. His body was limp and pale, thin, emaciated, and requiring neither sleep nor proper food. Five years were spent carefully stripping away everything about L which was lively, mutilating his soul to give him a look and abilities suited to a patron of death. When those five years were up, L found himself tossed into the world of shinigami with neither instructions nor questions, a book laying down next to him in the dust. He picked it up–with a hand much the same as his hand had looked in life: thin, bony, delicate, and white.

In fact, in spite of all this time, nothing about L had really changed at all, and he scarcely thought more than two hours had passed since he first stepped through the azure doors. He looked befuddled as he investigated the barren desert landscape around him, pushing a rock gently with his bare toes.

"Bored," he muttered.

"A-are you a shinigami, too? You must be, if you're here!" a voice quivered behind him, and he turned casually to find an enormous, grub-looking sort of creature. Panic was the only emotion he had any room for, and a figure in a crumpled white shirt and jeans was witnessed kicking Meadra several times in the head, then running off screaming.

"Hmm?" Jastin grunted, looking up from his hand of cards. The jewels which encrusted his decaying body glinted in the sun.

"It's your turn," Gook complained lazily, and chewed on an apple. Apples had been much more frequent in the shinigami world lately, but Jastin knew he was just teasing him, because he had five of his own apples in the bet. He looked down at the hand he'd been about to play.

"Four of a kind," he grinned.

"Flush, I'm out," Zerhogie complained, and tilted his head back to stare lazily at the sky, the red feathers of his Indian headdress trailing on the ground behind his hunched figure.

"Straight–" Gook began.

"AAAAHHHHH!" L screamed, and in screaming, ran through their poker game, knocking Goon and Zerhogie over and mingling their cards together.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Gook bitched, and grabbed L by his arm, pulling his shoulder out of its socket. L looked back with startled eyes, not feeling any pain, and turned to pop it back into place. This was something new, and it didn't relieve his terror in the least.

"Sh-shinigami. Everywhere. Shinigami," he babbled, incoherently. "Why didn't I realize . . . if I was a shinigami?"

"Sounds like you didn't get a good hand," Jastin said, amused. "So Gook, I guess that means I was the winner."

"What?! What do you mean?! I was about to say Straight Flush!"

"All I heard you say was Straight. Four of a kind beats Straight." Gook looked mild and unreadable.

"I'm definitely going to kill you!" he roared, throwing L to the ground, and taking out his notebook. He glanced at the human's lifeline and name, and wrote that down, then smirked, waiting for him to fall over from a stroke. But L just sat there, looking pensive. "Huh?" he asked, looking at the notebook and the name in disbelief.

"Why isn't he dying?" Zerhogie asked, with slight interest.

"Why is a human in our world to begin with?" Jastin mused.

"I'm not a human," L said bluntly. "I am a shinigami." The three death gods before him exchanged looks of surprise, none of them knowing what this meant or what to do.

"Well . . ." Jastin began. ". . . Wanna play poker?"

"No thanks," L said flatly.

"We're betting over human food."

"I have nothing to bet with."

"You could bet with your Death Note." L considered this. "What human food?"

"We mostly have apples, but Ryuk gave me these weird squishy things," Jastin continued, and produced two packages of devil's food cake. L looked at them, mildly, and with a bored look on his face, his eyes heavily shadowed.

"I'll take that bet," he faintly smiled.

An hour later, L was sitting contently with cakes, apples, and several jewels besides, examining his next hand, which was of course, enough to beat all three of them, just like every other hand had been before that. Poker was only just barely entertaining to him, it wasn't enough of a mental challenge. Although he had wanted the cake.

"I give up," he sighed, walking off with two apples in one hand, a cake in the other, and his Death Note tucked in the back of his pants. A royal flush sat on the ground where L had been, while the three more conventional shinigamis gawked at it.

"Again?! That's three times! Three royal flushes in a row!"

"He's cheating!" Jastin realized. "You! Get back here, step away from that portal!"

"Whoopsie," L said innocently, letting his notebook drop into the human world. The other shinigamis just stood there, unsure of what to do.

"W-why would you do that, just drop your notebook so carelessly?!" Zerhogie demanded.

"You had better go get that, unless you want to be tied to a human," Gook chided.

"What?! But he!" Jastin barked, incredulous of how stupid his companions were.

"I suppose I'd better," L agreed with him, and leapt into the hole in the ground, which opened up into a sky shattered with stars, and then into the human world.

"You two let him get away!" Jastin accused.

"Why do you think he was cheating?" Zerhogie asked cluelessly.

"I . . . don't know if he was, but he must have been."

"But nobody's smart enough to outsmart you, Jastin."

"True, but, I believe that man might have been some kind of genius–"

But his thoughts were interrupted by a strange request to ask a shinigami, as a voice echoed from inside the portal. "Help me." The shinigami looked surprised, but it was Gook who went over to investigate, and found L, clinging to the side of the portal, his eyes incredibly wide as his feet dangled into all the nothingness and everything below him.

"Use your wings, shinigami," Gook said, his eyes a nasty grin, and stepped on L's fingers, sending him into a free-fall towards earth.

Light was content, as he lay in his bed in his own apartment, knowing everything would go perfectly day after tomorrow. He had been one step ahead of Near this whole time. It really was like fighting L again, except Near had always seemed to be just a copy-cat, a cocky brat wanting to be like someone he couldn't. That had to be a pretty harsh judgment, coming from a man who had assumed the identity of someone he'd killed. Light decided it didn't matter, because Near, and his entire opposition, were about to be destroyed. He felt a little badly for Matsuda, and the rest of the team he had come to work with, but after sacrificing L himself five years ago it didn't seem so bad. They had chosen how they lived, had assumed the risks of chasing Kira. If Kira was anyone other than Light, they would have already been dead by now. It was a good thing, then, that Light had been so tolerant of their opposition to him for so long.

Near had been so stupid. The plan had gone perfectly. He had copied a copy of the book, and replaced the copy with it, the real notebook safe. Light knew this to be true from everything Mikami had reported. The real notebook was safe. Misa curled next to him in her sleep, passively, so loyal, so . . . disgusting. She was a thing to be tolerated, for now. In spite of how well things may be going, looking at Misa like that was dampening his mood. Light arose and wandered out into the hall, then took a turn and went into the guest bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. He sprawled on the bed, free from Misa's overly-cute face, her tiny stature, the way she trusted him so. His eyes closed, briefly.

They opened up again after something tapped hard against his forehead, and in doing so, he was overcome by a vision of L, standing before him, arm outstretched with a notebook in hand, which he had pressed against Light's face. He screamed, and ran back into the bed he belonged in, where he shook Misa, wailing, demanding that she get up.

"R-Raito-kun," she said groggily. "What's wrong?!" she asked, with sudden realization of the fear in his expression.

"Ryuuzaki's here!" he gasped. "Come help me! We have to kill him!"

"Raito? What are you talking about?" Reality came rushing back to him. Yes, Misa had had her memories taken when Mikami had received her notebook; she wouldn't know what he was talking about, saying he had to kill Ryuuzaki. And even if she did have her memories, Ryuuzaki had been dead for five years. "Raito?" she said in a small voice. "Misa is worried about Raito-kun . . ."

"I'm sorry, Misa," Light said quietly, and released his grip on the bed-frame. "I . . . think I was having a nightmare."

"About your friend."

"Yes. Misa, I'm going to try to sleep in the other room, so if I have more nightmares, they won't disturb you."

"Yes, Raito," she said, and laid back down, as Light strode toward the guest bedroom, his hand hesitating, not turning the handle. This was stupid. Ryuk had hinted that humans who die, in general, go to neither Heaven nor Hell, that they turn into nothingness. L appearing before him made no sense to him when taken into this context, and he hoped that when he opened the door, L was not going to be standing there, waiting. Perhaps it was all a dream. Seconds ticked by, not taking up any more time than they had before, but to Light it seemed to be longer than it was, until finally he just opened it. Whatever was or wasn't inside, he would find a way to stop it.

Inside the room was pitch blackness, and moonlight falling through the window onto the bed. He saw no sign of Ryuuzaki; heard no response when he spoke his name quietly into the dark.

"You're dead," he said, with finality, and closed the door, locking it behind him. He was just nervous about the day after tomorrow, it was that simple. Light pulled the covers over him, propped up on pillows, and thought. His trail of vision drifted to the inside of an open closet door where they kept extra linens, blurry, taking in a familiar hunched outline without realizing what he was looking at. His eyes focused, some part of his mind telling them that this was important, and found himself looking into the whites of shiny eyes, otherwise shrouded in black, with familiar dilated pupils like a man strung out on cocaine. A look of madness spread across Light's face. "You're dead. You're dead," he reaffirmed himself, giggling a little.

"And so are you, Light-kun," a voice said into the dark. Light was shaking, knocking over the lamp on the bedside table in his efforts to turn it on. He didn't want to, but he bent down to the ground to pick it up, averting his eyes from the closet. He turned it on before even sitting up, and held it in his hand, thrusting it toward the closet to reveal nothing but neatly folded sheets and towels. His pulse was pounding, beads of sweat running down his temples. This was just a dream, just a dream. Then he noticed a foot out of the corner of his eye, neatly sitting on the bed, leading to a body just a little behind his hips. His head slowly turned.

"Hello, Light-kun," L said.

He was going to have a heart attack. He was going to die here and now, his plans of becoming god thwarted. Ryuk, where was Ryuk?! That damned shinigami, he could do something about this! There was no notebook here! No, what was he thinking. There was the watch, he could use the watch. But L made no effort to attack him. He just sat there quietly, like he had sat in bed with Light before, knees to chin.

"You still have a chance," he said. "I know you are Kira. Nobody else does. Not yet. You could easily throw the book away, destroy it, or give it back to a shinigami."

"And why would I do that?!" Light asked, cackling a little.

"Because, if you do not, then you will die."

"You're just trying to scare me! You're just angry I defeated you! Sent you to an early grave!"

"Light, I know you will die if you do not stop because I will be the one to kill you." With a single fluid motion he pinned Light to the bed, gazing at him patiently. Light looked up at him, a little more terrified than he had been just a few moments ago.

"How can you even be here?! Ryuk said humans who die return to nothingness!"

"Perhaps some of them do. I didn't. I am a shinigami now, Light." Light lay there, frozen.

"Then you're just like I am! You hypocrite! A shinigami takes human lives to add to their lifespan! A shinigami uses a Death Note! Nothing separates us now but life and death! Look how far you have fallen from your perverse morals!"

"Morals?" he asked, sitting up and touching his thumb to his lips. "I wasn't aware I had those."

"Well then why were you always trying to pursue me?! Why were you so determined to put me to death?!"

"I wasn't, Light. I was just curious about you." The words sank in, strange words, coming from a strange being. "I originally took on the case out of curiosity. It gave me something to think about. And then you were my prime suspect. I was so glad, because you have such an interesting mind. I only wanted to find out if you were Kira." Tears coursed down the other boy's cheeks, his sandy brownish hair falling into his face.

"As I thought. No, as I knew, Ryuuzaki. You would have let them kill me."

"If you hadn't killed me . . . no, I don't think I would have. What you were doing was wrong, but like I've said before, right and wrong do not interest me."

". . . Why are you telling me this now?!" he screamed. "Why couldn't you have told me this before?!"

"You wouldn't have believed me if I had."

"Dammit!" he sobbed. "Why? Why are you here?!"

"To stop you from destroying yourself, for one. There are other reasons."

"But you said you would kill me!"

"And I would. An eye for an eye, remember? I figured . . . that I would talk to you first. And if you wouldn't listen, I would have no choice. Just as you apparently had no choice with me."

"Don't kill me," Light begged. "I'll change. I'll throw the Death Note away!"

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"How can you say something like that to me, Ryuuzaki?! After all you and I went through because I didn't trust you?!" he was sobbing. Was this an act? He was so . . . lost looking. "I never thought that it would turn out like this. I honestly didn't. I thought I was so smart, thought I had all the answers. I do, I know it could work, if everybody would stop getting in my way. But people like you keep doing that, over and over, and with each time I kill a person like that, I am making myself into the very thing I want to destroy. I have wanted to put the Death Note down for a while. The only reason I haven't done so is because . . . because your death would have been in vain. My father's as well."

"Your father is dead?"

"Yes," he said weakly, his cheeks wet, his eyes looking hollow and dead. Was he acting? Could anyone act so realistically? Or was it just a bluff in part, with partial emotions being revealed, and also amplified by false behavior? It had always been difficult for L to read Light's emotions, but he knew one thing. What he had said was right: this whole thing happened because they hadn't trusted each other. It was not that L hadn't trusted Light to not be Kira, and that Light hadn't trusted L to not be digging up his secrets. Those truths were apparent. What they hadn't trusted was what kind of a person was acting in these roles, and what this sort of person would do to them, how this sort of person was at the core of their being. But he still wasn't sure. He pulled his legs out straight. Damn logic. It was what ruled him, what kept him entertained, but his emotions were churning inside so powerfully, begging for the bonds of realism which held him to be broken. Light. He looked so sad, sitting there, on his side of the bed. Yes. It was like when the handcuffs were on again, when L had suspected himself of being Kira. Except now the roles were switched, and instead of L suspecting himself of being Kira, Light knew that he was. Perhaps . . . the chains connecting them had never really come off, and still remained, invisible, and stronger than steel.

"Light-kun," he breathed, barely audible. "I will trust you."

"Thank you," Light whispered back, curling up against L's side. Here was a man faced with the realization of what he'd become, of what he had done, and L lay there awkwardly and stiff until he decided to put his arms around Light, to turn to face him. After that their bodies aligned, L feeling the race of Light's pulse, a pulse he himself no longer had, feeling the wetness of his tears on his collarbone, revealed by a shirt slightly pulled-on from being crumpled underneath him. L wiped his tears away and kissed his forehead, then thought better of it and kissed him on the lips, feeling himself overwhelmed with that passionate feeling Light had been the first and only to expose him too. But no, he couldn't do anything more with this boy, now almost the same age as he was in death. He didn't want to confuse him, to take advantage of him in his state of regret, so he just held him more securely, his cheek pressed against Light's, feeling light's breath on his neck.

Light fell asleep like that, wrapped up in his arms. It made it difficult for L to disentangle himself a half-hour later, when he decided it was about time to visit his nephew, Near. The notebook went back into the waistband of his pants, making his shirt pull upward around it, and somehow, if possible, making L look even more slouchy. He was just getting ready to leave when Ryuk landed in the window, who took one look at L, and chuckled.

"Good luck with that," he laughed, gesturing toward Light. L looked unreadable, other than the faintest change in shadow near his eyelids, hinting that he might be annoyed. Without a word, he jumped out the window, into a night begging to have justice.


	6. Justice

Chapter Six: J ustice

I may need to kill him, L thought to himself, and started running, barefoot and unseen, through streets washed in rain and dark. He had no idea where he was running, or what he was going to do. He knew Near would be on the case in his absence, provided Light hadn't already gotten to him. He wasn't even sure, come to think of it, that Near was still alive. But in the event that he was, he needed to find him, and touch him with the book. He would then tell him everything he needed to know in order to capture Light, before this got further out of hand; before more innocents died for no good reason. He stopped at the corner of a street, waiting for the crosswalk to open. The light flashed red, and he started wandering, without paying much attention. If Near were alive and working on the Kira case, he would, of course, be in Japan. In this city, because that's where the main suspect was. He needed to think of an area large enough to house the SPK in secret, while still appearing to function on some normal front. It would also need to be a company or organization whom the SPK could trust. Of course, it could be Akita Bank's head office, where L himself had worked from until after his broadcasts in Japan. Yes, that seemed like–

The front of a speeding red sports car came darting in the blink of an eye from out of nowhere and struck L hard, with enough force to throw him against the plate glass windows of a building twenty feet from the site of impact. A sound of screeching tires and revving engine mingled as it veered toward a series of business fronts, only to swerve away and take off, the driver jerking the wheel with sweaty palms.

L slid down broken glass and landed in a crumpled heap, a huge shard impaling his hand, yet refusing to produce either blood or pain. He pulled the shard out slowly, and realigned his fingers. "I am a zombie," he complained, and wandered off, hands in pockets, shoulders slumped, and thinking dark thoughts.

He reached Akita Bank two hours later, in the fog and gloom of early dawn, birds calling to each other from among opening sakura blooms. It was either March or April, then. Everything about the bank appeared to be normal; no lights were left on aside from the red glow of an elaborate security system; no strange cars were parked in the employee parking structure. Then he spotted what he was looking for: the third and fourth guard on this side of the building. It was typical when he had stayed here for there to be this many guards around, although there were regularly only two per side and two on the roof. It was as he had suspected; Near was using Akita Bank as his headquarters. They should have changed all the pass-codes since then, as there was a two-year rotation. However, anyone who had known at least two pass-codes in sequence to each other would be able to figure out what the next in the series would be, as the pass-codes, while each an algorithm on their own, were also part of a larger algorithmic sequence.

It was lucky that L had used Akita Bank not once, but twice, for his headquarters: most recently while working on the Kira case. At that time, the pass-code had just been changed. It was therefore the one he recalled from his work a little less than two years prior to that, which came before it.

I wonder what happens if I use the Death Note to write out math, L contemplated, and opened it up. Its virginal pages had not a soul marked down for death on them, but they began to take on two different drawings, coupled each with a sequence of numbers. The sum total of the first pass-code's numerals was ten; the next was sixteen. You had to be joking, they used something as obvious as the Fibonacci code?! L smiled an innocent smile, and pressed the current pass-code into the terminal. A small back-door opened for him, then was quickly closed.

Of course, he wouldn't show up on the security cameras, but he still had to be very careful not to set off any alarms, which was easier said than done, as a network of thin, glowing red threads crossed the path before him in many different directions. He couldn't turn the security system off; that had another pass-code, one that L had never been given. Gingerly he set his bare toes over a line, putting all his weight on them, and pulled his other leg over high enough to avoid the lines running vertically on his left and right. He swept around two more layers of spider-web meshing before tripping on his own foot and falling toward the ground, about to land face-first on one of the lines–his hand caught him in time, sliding down at an awkward angle, leaving him standing on hand and two feet, all of which were too close together. It was an unsteady position, about to send him tumbling again, so he sprang from it and wove his body through more lines still, looking graceful, fluid–and annoyed.

Finally he cleared the area and headed for the stairs–stairs which should have had a similar security setup–that is, if there weren't people living here at night when the doors were closed. Even if the guards weren't a dead giveaway, now that he was inside, the lack of security in any area but the exits proved that Near, and the rest of the SPK, were somewhere inside–most likely, on the twenty-ninth and thirtieth floors. L looked up the stairs casually, and thought about this, then pressed the button for the elevator. He didn't have much time.

Near had noticed it out of the corner of his eye, as he painted another plain wooden momiji doll, this one to look like Mello. He frowned imperceptibly. Every elevator and exit had a security camera pointed at it, every camera's recordings represented on a different monitor, the sum total of which were stacked in a panel in the corner. Most of these looked normal; doors sitting closed, buttons faintly shining in greenish light. It was camera 13 which showed something disturbing; camera 13 which depicted elevator doors opening and then closing of their own accord, while the numbers above the door kept sliding from green to gold, growing exponentially. Something was coming. He finished painting Mello's scar and got up to go get the others; they were on the floor below him, in different rooms. He placed his hand on the knob, and glanced back to look at the progress. Floor twenty-five. Floor twenty-six. He raced out the door, closing and locking it behind him, and headed for the stairs, that door closing as well just as he heard the elevator ding behind him.

That was when something came racing up the stairs at him; something he couldn't see, smacking him in the head with what felt like a book. Near fell into the wall and then onto his knees, catching himself before tumbling down any further, his vision blurred as he stared at a wall where two shadows grew from the same feet–one hunched over in agony and confusion, the other skulking about in a taller manner.

"L," he said, his eyes finally focusing on an outline he hadn't seen in years, but which still remained familiar. "So you just sent the elevator as a distraction, then raced it up the stairs." He turned around, expecting to find himself wrong, but met with a nostalgic silhouette, a Death Note hanging from his hand.

"Naturally, Near," L said, by way of greeting.

"It's been a long time," Near mumbled, standing up and clutching the side of his forehead, a spot where a small bruise bloomed, purplish red, but he did not complain of his treatment. His longish white hair would hide that, unless the wind blew. "I've already figured most of this out. You're here because of Kira. And, of course, you're dead. Yet you are here among the living. I suppose that, in view of these circumstances, you are probably now a shinigami."

"Yes," was the simplest thing to say.

Near stood, and let his body fall against the wall, his elbow sticking out where he still clutched his face. No, he was being a baby, he couldn't act like this around L, whom he was trying to take the place of. He let his hand fall back to his side, a look of deep thought in his eyes. ". . . I have it under control," he said finally.

"So you plan to capture him soon, then."

"Tomorrow," he insisted.

"You know he has anticipated your every move."

"I know. And I have anticipated all his possible counter-moves. In doing this, I have realized precisely what Kira will do to eliminate me and the police who are working with me against him."

"Near," L said quietly. "If there is any way to avoid killing Yagami Light, please do so. However, do not put yourself in danger."

"That was already the plan, of course," Near verified, slouched in a mirrored position of L.

"Stop copying me," L complained.

Near stood up a little straighter. "I don't need to copy you," he mumbled, his face cast in angry shadows, looking out of place against a pallid complexion. "I've already gotten farther than you ever did."

"You have all the Death Notes then?"

"Of course. Who do you take me for? You?"

"Near, please don't be snide with me, when my entire fortune went to you," L glowered, a dark sparkle in his wide irises. And then, he turned to go, his own Death Note still hanging limply from his hand.

"L?" Near called from the stairs above him. L turned back around. "It would be foolish for me to try and think like you all these years, and then finally see you again . . . and not ask your advice."

"I know that," L said.

"Well then . . . would you like to . . . to assist, us? Kira has a shinigami. It may be useful for us to have one, too."

"That would be inconvenient. But yes, I suppose I'll have to," he conceded, his face showing just a little too much irk as he walked back toward the landing of the thirtieth floor, and Near caught onto it right away, because L hardly ever showed more than the ghost of any particular emotion.

"You were wanting to work with us all along, weren't you," Near accused, and L feigned innocence, and swore he had never planned that this would happen.

Yagami Light strode into the door after work and called out Misa's name, receiving no answer, just like he'd suspected. A grin curved up his face. Freedom. So she actually had gone to her friend's in Tokyo. She was debating it this morning, telling him how that friend had lost her father, and how she thought she would stay with her until after the funeral. Of course, Misa didn't know that her friend's father had been killed by Mikami under Light's orders a few days earlier. He was the head of a Tokyo-based organization involved with the Yakuza, and had recently been sending Yakuza members to investigate Kira. This was going perfectly; an enemy put down, and now Misa would be leaving him alone for at least a week.

And, then there was L's reappearance. It had been disturbing, but Light finally understood what exactly it meant. L, in spite of having died by Light's actions, hadn't signed his name into the pages of his Death Note. He took a bottle of chocolate syrup and a can of whipped cream out of the fridge and headed to the guest bedroom, where he set them down on the nightstand with a slight clink from the whipped cream's metal canister, then moved on to open the curtains and windows. He kicked off his shoes, then unbuttoned the top button of a nicely ironed shirt.

"You can come in, you know," he said to an invisible person, a form he could sense lurking, standing in a depressed slump on the ledge that wrapped around the apartment building, just out of sight of the window. A silhouette leapt gracefully onto the windowsill, like a pet cat coming home for its supper, and let itself fall gently to the floor on bare feet and the fingertips of one hand, still in shadows streaming from the bed of a nonexistent guest. The figure stood, familiar eyes taking in Light's form as he sprawled on the bed, shirtless, his arm dangling over his chest, a bottle in hand as a trickle of chocolate drizzled onto smooth skin. Light smiled wickedly. "I bet you haven't had sweets in a while, Ryuuzaki," he suggested.

"You haven't stopped acting as Kira," L told him plainly, not a sign of emotion on his face.

Light stopped the syrup's flow. "Ryuuzaki, I've tried! It's only been one day since I told you I'd try. It's addictive, and I've been used to it for quite a while. You need to realize, Ryuuzaki, that this will take time. That there will be slipups." L smiled mischievously in the gathering gloom, and reached for a black notebook tucked into the waistband of his pants. He held it up in front of Light's face, the finger and thumb of his right hand dangling the notebook by its cover, the pages unfurling to reveal some scribbled drawings and calculations, and below that was part of a name–in fact most of a name, all but the last letter, written in messy handwriting, barely legible.

Yagami Ligh

"Yagami _Lie_," L informed him, sounding it out. A mischievous twinkle reflected in his wide, dark eyes, L looking quietly amused at his play on words. Light, on the other hand, looked horrified, and backed against the headboard, the hand he wasn't leaning on shaking ever so slightly.

"You wouldn't," he gasped. "How could you do this to me?! You love me!" Light shrieked, and L suddenly realized that he hadn't gotten the pun, or what it meant. Light couldn't read L's writing very well, and thought that his entire name had just been written down.

"I still haven't written the final character," L reassured. "I just want you to know that I'm serious." Light's breathing slowed perceptibly, his body relaxing as he allowed himself to stop pushing so hard against the bed frame. It was okay. Of course L couldn't do it. He laughed aloud, allowing himself to look evil, in spite of who he was talking to.

"Of course you wouldn't do that to me, Ryuuzaki," Light snickered, showing a side of himself L had never seen before, but had always suspected existed.

"Remember what happened when you punched me before?" L mused, and Light could recall the pain in his face from being kicked by a man so infuriated that he was willing to send Light flying, in spite of the fact that they were connected by a short chain attached to handcuffs. "I'm not self-righteous like you, Light. But that doesn't mean I don't like to get revenge."

"You're wrong, Ryuuzaki. You're in love with me. I make you weak, you said so before. You don't have the guts to do it. But what am I saying?" he smiled, feigning politeness. "We don't need to agree all the time, do we, Ryuuzaki-kun? Can't we be together, in spite of our differences?" he asked coyly, touching the chocolate he was covered in and licking it from the tip of his finger.

"So Light, how many people are you fucking nowadays?" L asked boldly, and again Light was taken aback, L looking pleased at his shock. "We know there's Misa, and probably the person you've got acting as Kira. I bet that reporter who claims to represent Kira is telling the truth. Are you fucking her, too?"

A wicked, hateful grin filled the lower half of Light's face. "Does that matter, Ryuuzaki? You know you hold a special place with me. Nobody understands the way I think but you. I even spent my entire lunch hour going to the grocery store, so I could pick this stuff up for you. It would be a shame to let it go to waste."

"It would," L conceded, and bent down to kiss him, a little rougher than in times past. He pressed his palm against the side of Light's face and directed his head to the side, revealing a gracefully curving neck. L started with his neck by kissing it, then went on to sucking it a little, then a little harder, then biting him like a vampire, which left a huge bruise. Light had to be masochistic or something, because it made him moan, the soft sounds escaping his lips turning L on.

"You know you want me," Light told him, while the sugarholic detective put his tongue to the chocolate on Light's chest, slowly caressing him as he licked it up.

"Do I?" L asked, kissing his chest, now free of chocolate but still sticky, and wet with saliva. "I suppose I do," he admitted, and stripped himself to the waist, tossing his shirt on the floor. He kissed Light's stomach, moving down and unzipping his pants, pulling them off, suggesting he was going to do things he had no intention of. Light was hard, and he looked content, an emperor on his throne with no idea that there were rebels scaling his castle walls. All at once L grabbed him around the waist and lifted him off the bed, quickly flipping him over onto his stomach, then pinning him there, his body fully sprawled over this unclothed emperor.

"You first then?" Light asked, sounding a little unsure.

"Me exclusively," L breathed into his ear, and shoved his head back down onto the bed, then moved his other hand to the top drawer of the nightstand. If Light was planning on them being together, then there should be–his hand closed around it, a small bottle of lube. He contemplated the idea of not using any, and if he wanted revenge that badly.

"I always thought you had that rapist sort of look about you," Light snickered, feeling him slip inside him with a pinch extra force. He didn't snicker for long. "Ow, Ryuuzaki. Not so rough," he recommended, a blush rising in his cheeks from discomfort.

"Why, Light? I was always gentle with you, but you hurt me every time you fucked me. Now it's your turn." L had never wanted to do this; he'd never had any inclination to want rough sex, but Light's behavior tonight had caused two conflicting emotions to swell in the core of L's soul: lust, and pure rage. He held him down and ravaged him, feeling no remorse as Light gasped, clutching at the sheets with balled fists.

"I'll scream!" Light warned him, when his own tension caused the pain to grow even worse. "I'll scream bloody murder, Ryuuzaki, so help me god!"

"Please do," L taunted him, and turned on the stereo next to the bed to full volume, not caring what was in it, so long as it kept him from hearing Light in pain and feeling sorry for him. Light needed a taste of his own medicine. This time his orgasm was an ugly, brutal thing, just like Light, just like what L had done to him, as L's fingers started digging into the bed at the coupled feelings of pain, pleasure, and numbness. He rolled off Light, who still lay there stiffly, hyperventilating from the trauma.

"You're not even bleeding," L noted, and turned Light over onto his back so he could look at him. Of course he felt guilty, but L was good at hiding his emotions, and refused to show it. "You've done that to me twice, at least that rough. Every other time," he continued, "you still only cared about getting off, regardless of the expense my body had to pay. You are selfish, Light-kun. You need to experience what you inflict on others before you go dishing it out on a whim." He got up and went into the bathroom, closing the door with a slam. The light seeping through the cracks around the frame was the only illumination in the room, and Light gained enough composure to reach across the bed and turn the radio off.

The sound of a shower let up from behind the bathroom door, while Light stared at the ceiling in shock. Everyone was always kind to Light, but most especially L. Even when he'd suspected Light of being Kira, L had always been as accommodating as possible; even when Light got over-excited and made L bleed the first time he made love to him, L had been unflinching, insisting it wasn't a big deal, although it supposedly had increased Light's chance of being Kira by an additional one percent.

The shower shut off thirty minutes later, Light being completely ignorant to the fact that L had spent a good portion of those minutes crying. The man who used to be the three best detectives in the world emerged from the door sopping wet, a towel draped over his head but no towel around his hips. He sat down on the bed next to Light, but made no effort to dry off, and just put on his boxers and jeans again.

"I'm sorry I did that to you, Light-kun" he sighed, letting the guilt escape him at last.

"I'm . . . sorry I did that to you, too," Light whispered, his voice quivering as he thought back on all the time they'd been together. Evidently L had just accepted all of Light's transgressions and bottled them. He'd been saving them all this time, and now the bottle was breaking, because there was no room left to house them all.

"I would like you to know, Light-kun, that I was partially doing that as a test."

"A test?"

"Yes. To see if I can be like you. To see if I can deal out justice, and punish those who deserve it. I can't," he said simply. "I can't finish writing your name in that book. How you can stand having done so many cruel things, I have no idea. How you can handle all that blood on your hands . . . Light-kun, you and I are very different, after all."

"Ryuuzaki–L–" Light began. "I want you to know, that I really am sorry. I really do love you, quite often," he admitted. "More often and more strongly than I've ever loved a person. But it runs hot and cold. Sometimes during your work on the Kira case I wanted nothing more than your death."

"That's another point we differ on," L said sadly. "I've always loved you, no matter how upset with you I got, or how much I knew you had to be Kira." Light was crying steadily now, but he couldn't bring himself to any words to explain why. "I hope you can understand what you do to other people, before it's too late, and you become your own victim, Light," L told him quietly, then put on his shirt, and picked up the Death Note. He placed his hand on the bottom of the windowsill, about to climb out.

"Wait," Light said, in a small voice. "Ryuuzaki."

"I have somewhere I have to go," L insisted, looking away, casting his face in shadows.

"I really do love you!" Light sobbed. L looked back, but said nothing. And then, he was gone, his shadow flitting down a rickety fire escape with a light, metallic patter. His absence this time was worse for Light than when he had died, and he sat down on the floor of the shower and let the water run over him, letting water hide his tears just like L had with that rain storm, just before his death.

A silhouette appeared in the SPK headquarters three hours after that. He carried no Death Note on him, as that had been doused in gasoline and set on fire three miles back, until stark white pages crumbled to ashes, which blew away into the wind. Near turned around to find L standing there, looking disturbed: at least that was Near's interpretation, but you couldn't really be sure with L.

"I can't do this," was all he said.

"Why not?" Near asked calmly, stacking Legos into a model of the former SPK headquarters, now sitting abandoned in the United States.

"I tried to write his name in the book," L told him, and left it at that.

"And you couldn't, of course."

"No. I'm sorry Near, but I'm way too close to this. Having me in such an important role would be dangerous."

"I don't understand," was all Near could say, which was a pretty odd statement for Near.

"I hope you never do," L muttered, and walked off, feeling in a very bad mood.


	7. After

Chapter Seven: After

They were surrounding him, looking at him with disgust and shock. Matsuda's gun was drawn, while Near stared at him with a cold, uncaring expression. Mikami was screaming how Light wasn't his God, not who he'd thought he was, and L had probably returned to whatever dimension of the dead he'd slunk out of, filled with hate at Light's lies, and his refusal to repent. Light picked himself up off the floor, shot twice in the side, in his shoulder and his wrist, bleeding and angry, but not yet dead. He could still survive! He had to get away from them, away from Yellow Box! With as much force as he could gather he threw open the warehouse door and ran as fast as he could, clutching his shoulder, trying to get away from them. He watched himself running past, Death Note in hand, himself so many years ago, when he had first started his mission as God, a feeling of cold gripping him in spite of it being a warm afternoon. There was a building he could hide in! He could hide there until everyone was gone, and then escape!

From atop the tallest building nearby, Ryuk was watching Light; the way he desperately clung to life, even though he'd dealt out death to others so easily; the way he denied his fate, in spite of how little blood he must have left. They had made a deal when all this began; when Light died, Ryuk would write his name into his notebook, and he did. Forty seconds to go. Light made it inside another warehouse, closing the door and laying down on stairs, beneath a skylight which streamed down light on its namesake. They won't find me here, he lied to himself, ignoring his trails of blood, and stared upwards with tears in his eyes. This was . . . what every single soul who he'd sentenced to die had experienced.

After a shinigami destroys all Death Notes they have claim to, they loose the right to be a shinigami. L had a feeling when he destroyed the notebook, that something had changed, and it was verified that afternoon as he hung about on a rooftop, eating a donut he'd nicked and staring at the cut in his hand where that shard of glass had punctured it the night before. It was now bleeding, not from a body, but from a source having nothing to do with anything physical; from his soul. This meant that the soul probably would deteriorate after a certain time on its own, which explained why there were so few people in that supposed "Heaven." If you thought about it, after all the people in history who have died, assuming most of them aren't people who commit serious crimes, heaven would be massive and crowded with hundreds of times more people than exist at any one time on earth; yet it had seemed strangely barren. He watched the blood drip down onto the rooftop, where it was absorbed into this layer of reality. Mu. Nothingness. It really was . . . everyone's eventual fate, although based upon his great uncle's continued existence, it probably took a while.

The last bite of donut dropped thirty stories down into the street below, L staring with wide eyes. His heart had just twitched. A few hours after the Death Note had been destroyed, his pulse had started again. But this feeling was different. This was a feeling of pain, a feeling he no longer had. Something had happened to Light, and he could feel something pulling at him, directing him to go a specific way through streets where he walked, unseen in the crowds, unfelt, as he passed through two people on accident and got to literally take a look into their minds. There was the coast, and stretched across its edge a series of warehouses, glinting warmly in the pink of the most tragic and beautiful setting sun. He passed right through the door without opening it, and found Yagami Light there, stretched across a series of stairs, shot through with bullets and bleeding to death.

He felt angry inside. Near hadn't found a way to avoid killing him. No, he was certain that Light had brought this on himself. He should be glad that it was ended, but he couldn't be, and L stood in patient vigil, waiting for Light to die enough to be able to see him. Light's eyes finally focused on L's form, and in them there was, at last, a look of understanding and peace. The eyes of his body closed, for good, and Light sat up out of himself, looking quiet and troubled. He stood up, looking at his hands, and walked towards L.

"Why doesn't it hurt anymore?" he asked gently, as if waking from a dream: but instead of finding reality, as expected, he found that reality itself was a lie, something much different being the final core of existence.

"Light-kun," L said quietly, and met his eyes, tears flowing freely from his own. "You're dead."

"So that's what I was doing," he muttered, looking about in delicate confusion. "I knew the words and images of death. It isn't the same as it sounds. As it looks."

"I think we can guess what happens to a user of the Death Note," L said, thinking back on his own experience. "You are earth-bound. Sentenced to exist in a world you have no power to change. Ironic, noting that you gave so much up so that you could bring about change."

"Ryuuzaki," Light said in a small voice. "I'm so sorry." He was lost, shocked, tortured even, as a cavalcade of understanding overwhelmed his senses, barely leaving room for him to detect L's arms wrapping around him protectively, pulling him close. A part of him finally realized what L felt for him; finally knew what L would have done if left alive. Finally admitted how he really felt for L himself, if he hadn't been so afraid of L hurting him. "I love you," he wept, pressing his face against L's shoulder.

"Light-kun," L suggested. "Let's go someplace else. I can't stand looking at your body anymore."

"My body?" Light asked, in confusion, and L nodded to a place behind him. He turned to find himself stretched out uncomfortably and stiff across the steps leading to the second floor, covered in his own blood, a look of extreme sadness on a face cast in white death. His arm trembled in the grip of L's hand as L lead him outside, walking straight through the wall, which terrified Light. "What is this?! How could you do that?!"

"This is being a ghost," L said, looking imperceptibly amused. "I wish you would disappear."

"What?" Light asked.

"I wish that place claiming to be Heaven would pull you into it. That you wouldn't be stuck like this. But I suppose it's better than Hell."

"But then why are you here? You never used the Death Note," Light realized.

"Maybe because I want to be," was all he could conclude.

From the top of the tallest building in the Kanto region they watched the sun's last rays, as the stars and moon came out above them, feeling bigger and more mysterious and sad than they ever had in life. The perception of distance and size was more accurate in death, Light found, and the sphere of the sky was amazingly lonely as he stared into its depths, everything so far apart. Then he turned his head and caught sight of L, and that sense of loneliness subsided, as he entwined his fingers with the other boy's and kissed him, feeling warm and safe even though the wind permeated his entire soul.

_Author's Note: As you can guess, after first watching the entire series, then writing this, using the manga as a reference while doing so, I've gotten pretty damn bored of Death Note. Hence the brevity of this final chapter: I've run out of good ideas! Might improve on the last two chapters or replace them if better ideas hit me eventually, as I think I made it too sad by having the end of this run parallel to the end of the series. _

_Hope everyone enjoyed though! Peace, LJ._


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